


_Quaint Old World: Dissembled

by glenarvon



Series: _Brilliancy [33]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Guns, Social engineering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doors are closing and Aiden settles uncomfortably into retirement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	_Quaint Old World: Dissembled

[takes place in autumn 2026]

* * *

**[Audio Log: 11/1/2026, 11:08 pm]**

_It's all set up now. I took most of my rig. Stupid. It'll just implicate me if someone snoops around. I installed everything in old computer cases, maybe it'll fool someone. No flexible screens, they don't fit the atmosphere. I won't have enough power to run most of it anyway. It's just a generator for power, running on gas. I can link up to the internet through a satellite connection, but let's not do that unless I have to. It's a self-contained network now, no other wifi capabilities, can't make them secure…_

_…can't believe it… it's like Frewer's setup…_

_Well, I guess he knew what he was doing._

_There's a small settlement about an hour's drive from here. It's a dirt road, doesn't invite a lot of traffic and tourists know better. You can't actually see the log cabin from the road, gives me maybe an extra minute if someone shows up._

_Anyway… yeah, all set. Home sweet fucking home._

_Been a long day, I should get to sleep._

* * *

Aiden reached into the box by his side and pulled out a broken piece of computer equipment, part of an old hard-drive, its data as securely deleted as was humanly possible. _Not that secure, then._ It'll have to do. Got to find it first. He tossed it in his hand a few times, gauged its weight, calculated — though only in the back his mind, where he didn't like to look — exactly how it would fly, the trajectory it would have. It was, he thought, a little like cheating. It'd be a hundred times harder if he actually threw the thing truly randomly.

As it was, without any other preamble, he launched the hard-drive over his shoulder. He whipped around after it, brought his gun up and took aim in that ridiculously long second before the drive dipped too low and he'd be unable to spot it against the background of dark trees. He shot it from the sky, but didn't even wait to see where it landed before he turned back to the box.

This time, he retrieved an old smartphone. Part of its casing had been melted away, he didn't think it was still functional.

The wind was picking up steadily, chasing steel-grey clouds low across the sky, pulling on his coat. He'd have to incorporate the wind, it'd change the flight trajectories of the phone, even the bullet.

He threw the phone over his shoulder, turned and shot.

_It's probably littering._

Not on my own damn property.

He should maybe keep some of these things for replacement parts, but he'd taken too much stuff with him anyway. When tearing down his hideouts and safe-houses in Chicago, he'd somehow acquired a truckload of stuff he somehow had convinced himself he still needed. It wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind when he envisioned his minimalist off-the-grid retirement in a log cabin two and half hours out from Chicago and still a good forty minutes from the nearest settlement, a wannabe quaint, but in fact rather shoddy town with the charming name of Gallows.

Most of this stuff would be obsolete long before he ever got to use it, never mind that he wasn't even supposed to _have_ these kinds of things. He'd considered going full offliner, but it would probably have put him under _more_ scrutiny, not less. Anyone without some social media and a plethora of smart devises had to have something to hide, after all.

Gallows was linked up to ctOS, but it was the low-end of the deal. He guessed he still had a few good months with it, and then a few bad months, before he really did need to keep out of sight completely.

He reached into the box again, picked up another piece of useless hardware, ripped from his powerful rig only a week before.

_Feels a bit like guts, don't you think?_

This, too, he tossed over his shoulder and shot from the sky. It was rather satisfying, if he was honest. In Chicago, he'd been used to the suppressor's low snap, but the unimpeded echo of the bang beating up and down the length of the valley felt surprisingly good, a shot of adrenaline right in his veins.

Someone was clapping behind him.

If he'd seemed fast before, this was something else. He snapped around, didn't just bring the gun around but let go with his right, caught it with the left and aimed with an outstretched hand.

The man on the path a good few yards away, stopped in mid-cap.

"Hold your horses," the man said. "I come in peace."

Aiden recognised him. His wife, Joyce, owned the a grocery store in Gallows, but Aiden hadn't spoken with him yet. He was small and wiry, collecting a little fat around his midsection, a few years younger than Aiden himself.

_Showtime._

Aiden relaxed, thought it was hard to do for the first few seconds, putting on the role like an ill-fitting piece of clothing.

_Better make that fit, though. You'll be staying in it._

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," Aiden said, smiled and lowered the gun.

"You've got some skill there," he said as he stepped close. "The name's Nate, by the way."

He held out his hand and Aiden shook it.

"Bevan," Aiden said.

"Yeah, the wife said you've been around," Nate nodded. "Settling in all right?"

Aiden regarded him for a moment. "So far," he said noncommittally.

Nate gave Aiden a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Ah, I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry or anything, but Gallows is a small town and new faces don't happen by so often. Ain't none of my business what you're doing out here, but when I drove up here, I came by your cabin and I noticed you're short on firewood."

Aiden said nothing, but his confusion must have shown on his face, because Nate chuckled a little to himself.

"Not the nature-boy, are you? That pile of wood you've got, it'll run out around January and by then, it'll be a bitch to find someone to buy from. Bit late in the year to chop up enough yourself, too."

Nate was right on both counts, though. He'd thought the wood looked like an impressive enough stack, but he really had no idea how much he'd need. He'd need to step up his game if he wasn't going to be a very pathetic-looking retired hacker at some point in the future.

"Do you know someone?" Aiden asked.

Nate grinned, happy Aiden was playing so well with his cues. "Yep, cousin of mine. Gonna send him over tomorrow, if it's all right with you."

"Yeah, sure," Aiden nodded.

Nate hesitated.

_Not quite true, he wants to pry like fuck, he just doesn't want to_ seem _like he does. Come on, don't keep him waiting._

Aiden looked down on the box, scowled a little, then shrugged and sighed.

"This is my wife's stuff," he explained. " _Ex-_ wife now. Kept it just so I could blow it up." He shrugged again. "Thought it'd make me feel better."

Nate chuckled. "So, you're from Chicago? You sound like it."

"Yeah, sort of. Always wanted to get away from the city, though."

Nate studied him again, his glance wandered down to the gun briefly.

"You're a good shot," he remarked.

Aiden gave him another smile, obviously flattered. "Thanks. The wife always said… the _ex-_ wife always said it's the only thing I'm good at. I told her I'd join a circus, you know, the stupid shit you say when you're angry?"

"I hear you," Nate chuckled. "You're looking for self-reliance?"

Aiden pursed his lips, pretended to think, than turned a sharp eye on Nate. "In a way," he admitted, lifted his hands up, gesturing. "But not like the offline nut-jobs. Need my phone and my net, right? But maybe not so much of that other crap anymore. Got to get away from it all."

"Plenty of people like that," Nate nodded understandingly. "Can't blame them. I mean, some is pretty decent. Got a pretty good weather forecast now, even up here. GPS is good for trapping, too. Don't get so many lost hikers, either. Used to be, every other winter someone'd trip and fall and the whole place would be full of mountain rangers and rescue teams. Forget about trapping then, too. Not a deer in sight for weeks after that goes down."

He thought about it for another moment. "So, city boy that you are, you up for some 101 hunting? I'm heading out with my boy this weekend, if you want to tag along."

Aiden watched the man for another moment, than pulled a small scowl. "You got that backward," he pointed out. "I grew up on the road. My parents lived out of a trailer park, south of Pawnee. Followed the ex-wife to Chicago, thought it was a smart move at the time."

Again, Nate nodded and seemed to grow to like Aiden more with every random morsel of information he was being given. It was a little clumsy, Aiden thought, but he had time. In the months — and _years_ — he could cement his new image in the consciousness of the people of Gallows. No matter how careful he was, he could never be absolutely certain no bounty hunter would stumble on his tracks. When that happened, well, he'd only hear about Bevan Smith, who'd been living up in his log cabin for ages: Trailer trash, once, tried to make it in the big city and failed. Came out here with his tail between his legs. Oh, you mean he's got a record? Well, lots of people do. Doesn't sound like your 'vigilante', if you ask me. I mean, he's a good hunter, but that's half the town and have you actually _seen_ the dude?

"But…" Aiden continued before Nate had a chance to back away. "I've never hunted. More of a fast-food kind of guy. If it's no bother…" he glanced around, took in the dark green tree tops and the bleak mountains. "But I'd take that 101."

"Consider it a win-win, buddy. If you shoot a rifle like you shoot that handgun, we'll all go home happy. You ever disembowelled a fresh kill?"

_Seen plenty of bowls, not sure it counts._

"Not really…" Aiden said slowly. "I once saw someone ripped up in a car accident." He pulled a face. "But I guess I didn't have to eat that."

Nate chuckled to himself. "No, better be prepared than. Tends to smell, too. But the barbecue later is on me and if you can't stomach it, Joyce makes the best potato salad in the county."

Aiden gave Nate a vaguely scandalised look. "I can handle it, don't worry about me."

This didn't seem to impress Nate too much.

"We'll see, but don't worry, like I said, no one's gonna judge," Nate assured him. "They don't breed them in the city for that."

_Breed them just fine, thanks._

Aiden spread out his hands. "Hey, I'm all ready to learn."

_Not like you've got a choice. It's either every hillbilly's wet dream or a slow death in an interrogation cell. It was your call, you made it, now suck it up._

"You have no idea how long it's been since anyone said that," Nate grinned. "My boy just tells me to shut up these days. You got any kids?"

"Yeah, boy and a girl," Aiden said, let his face light up a little only to replace it with another accidental scowl. "But… I don't think they'll be visiting. They take after their mother, if you know what I mean."

Nate seemed less sympathetic than before when he said, "It's not good to lose track of family like that."

Aiden just shrugged as he turned away. "No, I guess not," he muttered and left it hanging in the air as he stalked back to the box. He dropped his hand in and pulled something out that intrigued him because it felt smooth, not like the rest of the computer entails. An old, dark metallic smartphone, barely used without even a crack on the screen. He needed a moment to place it and when he did, he froze caught between the urge to throw it in the air and puncture it with all the bullets remaining in his gun and the desire to hide it even from Nate.

"What's up?" Nate asked, tore him from the moment and Aiden glanced up, plastered a smile back on his face. He shrugged again and slid the phone into his pocket.

"Nothing," Aiden said. "Hey, if you got an hour to kill, I could use someone, well, less predictable?"

Nate eyed the box. "This stuff looks pricey, you sure you want to shoot it up?"

"Definitely," Aiden said, baring his teeth.

Nate frowned a little, but reached in the box and pulled something out. "Do you want a count?"

"No, not one for the easy way."

"Okay," Nate grinned and threw the piece away from him with all his might, giving Aiden barely enough time to bring the gun back up. The shot barked loudly, the recoil climbing up the bones of his arm, but the bullet ripped the small shard from the sky.

* * *

**[Audio Log: 11/7/2026, 3:47 am]**

_It's strange, I've always thought of the countryside to be quiet, but it really isn't. There's always something, snap of a twig, some animal digging through leaves, some rocks coming loose. I've set up an alarm a little down the road, don't want any surprises, but some animal keeps tripping it._

_It'd be easier if I could just use Profiler, no stupid fox is going to trip it, but I can't trust the software. I need to write it from scratch. I don't know… programming a filter that's foolproof enough I'd trust my life to it… that's gonna take some work. Don't have anything better to do anyway._

_For now, I'll settle for being woken up at random hours because of a hare. Better than waking up with a gun barrel in your face._

 

**[Audio Log: 11/7/2026, 4:12 am]**

_The cabin still smells of roast._

_Hunting is harder than I expected. I thought, it can't be harder than people. People are smart, most of the time. They think ahead, plan, they try to trick you, manipulate you, game doesn't do that. But it's got sensational hearing and sense of smell._

_But at least deer don't shoot back._

* * *

**[Audio Log: 01/01/2027, 0:21 am]**

_Happy new year._

_… fuck this._

**Author's Note:**

> **References:**
> 
> 'Bevan Smith' has the same meaning as 'Takeshi Kovacs' (by Richard K. Morgan)
> 
> 'Gallows Water' is a town in The Steel Remains by Richard K. Morgan, because I'll never tire of name-dropping him
> 
> in the Fall Revolution novels by Ken MacLeod 'Dissembler' is the name of an OS
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Revised on 11/May/2017**


End file.
